Power and Glory
by peacepoetrypotter
Summary: Hermione enters her seventh year as Head Girl, and is far from happy when she discovers that Draco Malfoy is Head Boy. Draco enters his as a Death Eater whose loyalty is no longer questioned, but also as a newly-recruited spy for the Order - who has begun to accept his attraction to a certain muggleborn Order member. non-DH-compliant. Written in snapshots through the year.
1. Congratulations

**'Cause she's a crueller mistress**  
**And a bargain must be made**  
**But oh, my love, don't forget me**  
**I let the water take me**

**Lay me down**  
**Let the only sound**  
**Be the over flow**  
**Pockets full of stones**

1 September 1997

Hermione heaved her heavy trunk onto her new bed and took a deep, somewhat shaky breath as she began unpacking. She knew her door was still open behind her, which bugged her, but didn't want to close it for fear of breaking down. Harry and Ron had run off to hunt for Horcruxes, Remus and Tonks were having a baby, Moody was dead, the Ministry belonged to the Death Eaters, and she had to handle being Head Girl. Little over a year before she'd have been ecstatic at the opportunity, but now it only brought unneeded stress. The only good part was that she had so much more space: the Head Boy and Head Girl had their own suite, complete with a common room, and she had her own bedroom, instead of having to share with Parvati and Lavender. The room was massive, adorned with Gryffindor garb and filled with beautiful furniture that Hermione could imagine in the house at Grimmauld Place, back when it was inhabited by haughty and respected people. She was sure that the cost of furnishing the entire room could have been equivalent to the cost of furnishing the entirety of her former home. Her heart ached as she was reminded that she would not be going back.

_At least I don't have to worry about writing letters to Mum and Dad,_ she thought optimistically, sitting herself dramatically on the edge of the bed. She reexamined her letter for what could have been the millionth time - Ginny had lost count the week before, somewhere past two hundred - and wondered who the Head Boy was. All that McGonagall had told her was that he was a Slytherin. While neither of them were exactly chaffed at the situation, McGonagall explained that it partly was to keep the distribution of power where it was; Snape was now Headmaster, and McGonagall kept her position, so with the addition of the two students, the school's major leadership was half Slytherin and half Gryffindor. Hermione couldn't help herself from remembering that Snape wielded more power than McGonagall, and that the Slytherins were males and Gryffindors were females, and reminded herself that most Slytherins thought Gryffindors were girlish and emotional, Snape included. She knew it wasn't a coincidence, since the two houses were now head to head in nearly all respects, but vowed to refrain from complaining about it. Within the Slytherin seventh-year boys, she didn't have much competition anyway, academically or even in terms of skill. Only Malfoy and a couple of his friends even came close.

She leaned back onto the bed, grimacing as her head accidentally hit her trunk on the way down. She gave herself a few moments to relax, knowing that McGonagall would come to collect her when she was needed. Right as she felt herself fading into sleep, a low, masculine drawl from the small hallway outside her door snapped her back to almost full attention. It sounded familiar, and she reasoned that it would be the boy moving in across the hall, her new partner for the year, with whom she could possibly retain order in the school. The sight of chocolate skin made her cringe, but she bit her lip to resist groaning. She only knew one Slytherin male with skin that dark, and he had always seemed to be Malfoy's best friend. While **she** would be obeying the rules about who and what was allowed to be in her dorm and when, she knew better than to expect Zabini to do the same.

_Why couldn't Neville just be Head Boy, for Merlin's sake..._

"Almost comparable to the Manor, eh, Draco? I reckon you're gonna have yourself some fun," he said, and at this Hermione completely awakened. Having Malfoy around would be even worse than having Zabini. Zabini was a righteous git, a drinker, and a partier, but Malfoy was...Malfoy.

"Not quite, ya git. And when'd your accent get back?" Hermione heard another voice say, which she logically recognised to be Malfoy's. It was a good bit lower than she remembered, and it made him sound like he'd grown up, which scared her so much she almost shook. If he was nothing but a matured version of his former, arrogant self then it could be safe to assume that he really had filled into his role as a Death Eater. McGonagall had said the Order's spy had reported that the man had tortured one of the men who had failed to capture Harry and Ron after their daring escape from Bill and Fleur's wedding, and his father had been bailed out of jail, for lack of better words.

"The second I stepped off the bloody Express this June," Zabini replied. Hermione heard what sounded like him lifting Malfoy's bag onto the bed in the other room. It worried Hermione that she could hear so clearly. She prayed their doors had magical sensors, like the stairs to the girls' dorms did, so that girls couldn't be over there past nightfall. If not, she might end up sharing a bed with Ginny for most of the year, and as much as she loved Ginny, that didn't sound very enjoyable. She sat herself fully up on the bed and glanced towards the doorway. She couldn't see anything, and she then moved to the exquisite vanity, a few meters from the foot of the bed where she conveniently was sitting. She started running her brush through her hair, pleased that it still looked presentable instead of returning to its former bushiness. That problem seemed to have subsided with age.

Malfoy seemed to grunt in response, then Hermione heard footsteps growing louder until they were replaced by his voice.

"You're here, Granger," he said, his tone shockingly softer than the one he'd used to address Zabini.

"An astute observation, Malfoy," she replied snarkily, without shifting her gaze from the mirror. Her peripheral vision saw Malfoy moving from the doorway to her bed, sitting himself down like it was his own room.

"I'm sure, and I've got another if you'd like. There's a mirror in front of you," he retorted, and his tone had returned to normal.

"Your point?" she scoffed, laying the hairbrush down on the vanity and swiveling herself around on its seat to face him, barely resisting the urge to throw a fit at him for being on her bed.

"I saw that, the eye-roll, the pursed lips, the slightly flushed cheeks, that look you get when you push yourself into your signature prudish attitude, when you want to hurt someone but you want to be polite so you don't do anything. You also get that look in another case, but I wouldn't want to force you to restrain yourself from hurting me. Not on our first day, at least."

"How very kind of you," she sneered, suddenly conscious that she wasn't dressed as modestly as she usually was at school.

"You're welcome, Granger."

"No thank you, Malfoy," she said harshly, standing and pulling him out of her room, pleased to see that Zabini seemed to have left.

"You know, you're pretty strong, for a girl," Malfoy said, yanking his arm away.

"And you're pretty weak, for a Death Eater," Hermione snapped immediately. Draco clenched his teeth together, growing the littlest bit paler. "What? Are people really not supposed to know about that now?"

"You don't know anything about-"

"About what? About the Mark on your left arm? About the battle? I was in the fucking battle, Malfoy, and I'm Harry's best friend. Everything I didn't see with my own eyes, I've been told about in detail."

He scoffed.

"Not everything, Granger."

"Just about!"

"Not even! You have no _idea_ what I was going through last year!"

"Oh, I know damn well-"

"What I did. You know about what I did. But this isn't black and white, Granger. Everything is grey area."

"Really? Because you certainly seem to have chosen a side, Malfoy. Voldemort's side. And that tells me that some part of this is black and white to you." She knew it was somewhat cruel, but the name alone could break Malfoy in half. At least, three months ago it could. She'd just have to hope that he hadn't changed too much. She seemed to be in luck, since she'd already tapped into his sensitivity to it.

"Some part of this, yes: the part wherein I refuse to let my parents be brutally murdered in their own home. The part you don't know about. The day I took the Mark, and the reason. The only reason."

Hermione scoffed and sneered, "Because you don't agree with anything that bastard preaches, right?"

"Enough to use anti-muggle slurs, not enough to go to war for pureblood supremacy. Nowhere near. But close enough not to fight Him when he stands in my fucking living room, looks me in the eyes, and tells me, straight to my face, in front of my entire family, that if I do not take His Mark, if I do not do exactly as He says, He will trap the three of us in the Manor, torture us for an inordinate amount of time, and kill us - without using the Killing Curse. This isn't about me, Granger. It was never about me."

Hermione's stomach turned and she cringed inwardly, wanting nothing more than for him to be lying to her.

"Speaking of your parents, your father _has_ managed to escape Azkaban, hasn't he?" she asked jeeringly after a deep breath.

"He was _released_. There's a difference."

Hermione crossed her arms and moved her face closer, so that their faces were nearly touching. He still stood close enough to her door that although she was standing in the doorway there wasn't even a meter in between them.

"Released by _Voldemort,_ therefore, there is no difference," she asserted in a whisper. He glared at her for a moment, then inhaled loudly.

"It's high time you figured out that it's rare that something is what it seems, Granger. You've been lucky enough to live by your own standards. I've never had that luxury. I can't choose anything about myself, Granger. Just because I'm doing something doesn't mean that I agree with what I'm doing."

"Then why are you doing it?"

"I don't have the choice!"

"Of course you have a choice, Malfoy! Dumbledore told you-"

"It doesn't matter what Dumbledore told me! Dumbledore's dead! And it would have helped to hear all that when I was thirteen, not when I reached adulthood!"

"Do you mean to tell me that going up in that tower that night wasn't your choice? That sneaking multiple Death Eaters into Hogwarts wasn't your choice? That poisoning Ron wasn't your choice? That possessing Katie wasn't your choice?"

"Yes, Granger! That's exactly what I'm telling you!"

"That's complete rubbish!"

"Is it?" Malfoy jerked his left sleeve up in anger, placing his index finger at the top of his Dark Mark.

"Look at that Mark, right there. Does that look like rubbish to you, Granger?"

"No! That's my point exactly! You willingly took the Mark, did you not?"

"No, Granger, I did not!" he yelled, and then took a moment to catch his breath before continuing.

"It was the last thing I wanted to do. I wanted to run away and never look back. It hurt like hell getting this tattoo, Granger, but not because tattoos hurt like hell, even though they do-"

"Your Mark isn't your only tattoo?"

"No, it's not, but that's completely irrelevant. It hurt so much because I knew what it meant. I was prepared to run when He only threatened me. Scared clear out of my mind, but I wanted no part of that. Okay, that's not entirely true; power and glory are rather enticing, both of which He promised, but I damn well know that there are ways to reach those that don't involve being ordered to torture, maim, and kill people. What I wasn't prepared for was when he threatened my parents, and that was enough to keep me from running. That's why I did it, Granger; I'm not the heartless asshole you seem to think I am. I did it for them, to protect them. Do you have any idea how badly it would hurt to have my parents' lives on my conscience? No, of course you don't. You don't care at all," he told her, and then turned back to his own open door.

"Actually, I do, Malfoy," she said softly.

"Really?" he asked, turning back around, his voice falling back into the gentler tone it had been at the beginning of the conversation. Hermione noticed he was becoming less pale.

"My parents have no idea that I exist. I modified their memories so they don't know me. They don't even know they have a daughter, or what their real names are."

"Why are you telling me this? If You-Know-Who decides to find them, you know He'll ask. I'll be the first person, too."

"I know...but as I said, they don't know I exist. And the most information you could have on them is what they looked like when we were twelve, if you even remember. Besides, if He were to find them, I would know exactly who to blame," Hermione testified coarsely before they spent a moment standing opposite each other in their respective doorways, nearly ten minutes in pure silence before Draco spoke again, on a different topic entirely.

"Good job on making Head Girl, Granger. Not that it was unexpected, but it's still an accomplishment."

"You want something," Hermione said sceptically.

"No, no, I don't. I was just thinking that with all the time we'll be spending together, maybe we'll even figure out how to get along."

"Only in your dreams, Malfoy," Hermione reprimanded, retreating into her dorm and locking her door both magically and non-magically. She peeled off her v-neck top and her short skirt, replacing them with jeans and a blue scoop-neck sweater.

"I guess I'll be getting a lot of sleep this year, then," Hermione heard Malfoy say, barely loud enough to hear. She heard his door slam as she settled into her Secretary desk, organising her textbooks and her writing utensils. She spent nearly an hour tapping a quill to her lower lip before she decided to get into bed.

_This is going to be a long year..._


	2. McGonagall's Office

**It's a beautiful lie**  
**It's the perfect denial**  
**Such a beautiful lie to believe in**  
**So beautiful, beautiful it makes me**

**It's time to forget about the past**  
**To wash away what happened last**  
**Hide behind an empty face**  
**Don't ask too much, just say**

1 September 1997

"Anything specific you want me to listen for, Professor?"

"Anything that the Order might find useful, Draco," McGonagall said distractedly.

"So no," Draco clarified.

"You are not listening for any key words or anything as official as that, if that's what you mean."

"Precisely."

"Why does it matter?"

Draco took a deep breath when McGonagall stopped searching through papers on her desk and looked up at him.

"I've never done this before, Professor. I don't know how to do this."

"There is no trick to it, Draco, other than to pay attention," she reassured him.

"And what if another Death Eater finds out? Other than Snape?"

"You trust your instinct, Draco. You know how to sense danger; you know which Death Eaters are more dangerous than others. Push comes to shove, use me as a cop-out."

"Come again?"

"Thicknesse and Umbridge believe that Snape and I are going to try to save the school's reputation, as well as yours. They know that as Head Boy, you are going to be expected to do certain things that a Death Eater typically would not-"

"Like being nice to muggleborns and keeping my Mark covered while I'm on patrolling duties?"

"Precisely. See, they know about these things. If they think that you have been ordered to do or not do something, they are more likely to accept that. Begrudgingly, of course, but enough to keep you from getting hurt."

Draco nodded in understanding.

"Is that all, Draco?"

"I think so, Professor."

"Then you are dismissed. Tell Hermione I'd like to speak with her, if you could."

"Oh, actually..."

"Yes?"

"How- how are she and I supposed to be..."

"Perceived?"

"Yeah."

"Well, I was going to speak to the two of you together about this, but since you asked...you are to get along, certainly. You two are a team, more so - much more so - than Professor Snape and I. We have chosen to show tension between the two of us, and as such, the two of you will have more responsibility, more power. You do not have to be best friends; however, there cannot be as much as a single remark against each other when you are in front of other students and in front of staff who are not aware that this is a strategic arrangement. From either of you, of course, but especially from you. Now, behind closed doors, do as you please. Hex each other, have sex, study...I couldn't care less, as long as no one is able to see any animosity. Understood?"

"Yes, Professor," Draco asserted with a slight chuckle.

"What do you find funny about this, Mr Malfoy?"

"Eh, nothing...just the idea of Granger and I sleeping together, you know-" Draco began, cutting himself off when he realised he didn't know where he'd wanted to go with it.

"Seems like it's a far less repulsive idea to you than it used to be," McGonagall commented, smirking, knowing that the change in Draco's skin from vampiric pale to a relatively normal pigment was about as much as he ever blushed.

_Maybe this will work out better than I thought it would..._ she thought.

"Why would you think that?" he replied, trying to hide the defensiveness with which the response flew out of his mouth.

"You mentioned it at all, and you appear to be able to handle the removal of a certain derogatory term you usually use in reference to Miss Granger. Am I mistaken, Mr Malfoy?" she asked sternly. Draco looked at her sceptically.

"No," he eventually said, as unemotionally as he could. McGonagall smiled at him.

"Shut the door on your way out, please."

1 hour later

"If you don't mind me asking, Professor, why on Earth is-"

"Draco Malfoy Head Boy?" McGonagall finished, and Hermione nodded.

"Professor Snape and I have...the choice of both of you is a strategic move by the Order."

"Snape? But- he killed Dumbledore, Professor!" Hermione exclaimed.

"On Dumbledore's orders," McGonagall said gently. Hermione's breath stopped for a moment and her voice dropped in disbelief.

"What?"

"Snape killed Dumbledore on Dumbledore's orders," McGonagall repeated slowly.

"And then what's Malfoy?"

"He is your partner. You two are a team, you work as a team. You go places together, make decisions together, keep the school strong while we have the Death Eaters trying to tear it apart."

"But he **is** a Death Eater!"

"He is also Head Boy, and understands that he must do as I say, which includes the knowledge that if he is found to do anything more than give information to any Death Eater other than Snape he will be at risk of expulsion. He has made the choice to accept this position rather than fulfil a role as an adult Death Eater."

"And the two of us are supposed to...what exactly?"

"The two of you, by the middle of term, will essentially be running the school. Snape is going to fulfil the role of Death Eater in both of their places, so as the year goes on, we believe that the tension will grow between the houses, and between us. That is why you two will step up. You will represent Hogwarts as a sovereign entity, you will keep the school united to the absolute best of your abilities."

"If you and Snape can't unite the school, how do you expect Malfoy and I to be able to?"

"We have lived much longer, Hermione. Our alliances have been secure for longer. The outside world has a developed opinion of our relationship, and the roles we play in that relationship are roles we must continue to convince people of, for both of our sakes. You and Mr Malfoy, conversely, do not have a relationship so developed that there is concrete evidence that it is what people think it may be. Everything that people who do not know you well believe about the relationship is assumption. If you are careful, you can come forward and prove them wrong without there being a tremendous amount of resistance in response. Do you understand now?"

"This does mean he isn't allowed to call me mudblood any more, right?"

"Yes, and he is well aware of it."

"Okay then. So do I have anything to be worried about?"

"Nothing to my knowledge, and certainly nothing you can't handle."

"You're sure?"

"If you are so unsure, why don't you ask Mr Malfoy?"

"Well, I- I don't believe I thought of that," Hermione confessed, a red tinge creeping across her cheeks.

"He will be able to give far better answers than I, Hermione. Besides, there is only one way for you two to learn to trust one another."

Hermione sighed deeply, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Trusting one another," she groaned.

"Precisely."

"Well, I- good night, Professor," Hermione stuttered and turned to leave.

"Remember to shut the door!" McGonagall called after her, returning promptly to the book she had been reading. Hermione closed the door behind her, leaning up against it and taking a deep breath.

_Why, oh why, do __**I**__ have to be the one to make peace with Malfoy?_ she groaned silently, startling as she heard footsteps just around the corner. She pushed herself off the door and into the corridor, pulling her wand from her pocket. It was just past bedtime, so very few students had any excuse to be out of bed.

"Hey, Hermione," she heard a whisper, and Neville rounded the corner. She broke into a grin and met him halfway between the door and the corner in a tight hug. "You going to survive? Ginny told me about Malfoy..."

"I think so. I've still got you guys, don't I?"

"Always!"

They let go of each other, and had a moment of quiet before Neville began to speak again.

"You know, you aren't allowed to do anything, but if you ever need someone to hex the daylights out of him..." he suggested.

"Neville!" Hermione exclaimed, gently slapping his arm but laughing.

"Just an offer..."

"Thank you for the thought, but I shouldn't be needing it."

"All right," Neville feigned a disappointed sigh, and turned back around to face the corner. They spent the short walk to the Gryffindor common room discussing the classes they were taking.

"Your room is close, isn't it?" he asked as they neared the portrait-door.

"Just a bit farther down the corridor, closer to Luna," she confirmed. "I'm not sure if you'd be allowed up, though. There might be some block for the opposite sex of the person they'd be visiting. We aren't blocked from each other's rooms, strangely enough. Ginny came up after supper, but apparently Pansy couldn't even find the entrance."

"That's not really that surprising, though. I'd bet anything that's more about Pansy's lack of- more about her than her being a girl."

"Good point...well, I'll see you at breakfast, then," Hermione concluded. They hugged once more, then Neville stepped through the portrait-door and Hermione continued on to the Heads' Suite.


	3. Happy Hallowe'en, Granger

**I need your grace**  
**To remind me**  
**To find my own**

**If I lay here**  
**If I just lay here**  
**Would you lie with me and just forget the world?**

**Forget what we're told**  
**Before we get too old**  
**Show me a garden that's bursting into life**

31 October 1997

The blasting music pounded in Hermione's skull as she collapsed onto the couch in the common room.

_Damn party,_ she thought. She heard a door slam, and then all of a sudden the noise from the festivities downstairs stopped. She groaned silently, but sat up and looked over the back of the couch.

"You're welcome," Draco said in his usual, haughty tone. Hermione sat herself all the way up, realising that she was still wearing most of her costume but since her cloak had fallen off earlier, she was left in her sheer white dress, which essentially functioned as a slip and certainly was not appropriate to wear in front of others.

"What have I not yet thanked you for?" she replied, tugging on the lace hem at the bottom of her dress.

"I soundproofed the room from the inside. I assume that's something you don't yet know how to do."

She flashed him a smirk and crossed her arms over her chest as he walked up to her.

"Do you know any spells for headaches, Malfoy?"

"No, but I do have an idea as to how to help with that if you'd like," he said and approached her further, and she stumbled backwards, reasoning that he was purposely invading her personal space. He'd been doing so the entire term already, and that was when she was dressed sensibly. She wasn't sure whether this was because he wanted to get his mind off of his Death Eater duties, she was the female who could avoid him the least, or he just wanted to toy with her - or if, Merlin forbid - he was actually flirting with her. For the most part she'd given up on Ron, who was off gods-know-where with Harry anyway, so if it were the latter it couldn't hurt to play along, but if it were the case that he was doing it for some petty reason she couldn't risk her dignity over it. She was almost sure it wasn't, with the greater level of trust they'd established, but there was still a massive gap in their understanding of each other. At least, in her understanding of Draco. Hermione herself was more predictable, and he was quieter, which likely gave him more opportunity to pay attention.

"Why aren't you at the party? I'd think you would enjoy it, though I suppose you could do with more drinking," she said hastily to change the subject.

"I'm not really a party person, Granger, contrary to popular belief, but the drinking part is spot on, actually. I've got a few bottles back in my dorm, if you'd like to partake in my Hallowe'en celebration."

"I'll pass," she sneered, and walked past him, skipping up the stairs and turning left into her bedroom. She was pleased that her headache had begun to recede, even though it still hurt some. The quiet made everything easier to hear, so while laying on her bed she heard a couple corks pop. She could only imagine but Malfoy was doing, but she didn't particularly want to. Most likely, he was doing less celebrating than drowning his sorrows. He never got too drunk at school, though - he'd reassured her of that weeks ago - but she couldn't help but think that would only make him feel worse. What made her feel worse was the desperate need to help that had begun to gnaw at her whenever she could tell he was in his worst spaces. He wasn't as low as he could get, as their Hallowe'en night ticked by, but he certainly wasn't doing well. She never heard another voice except for a period of a few minutes when she could tell that Zabini was in his room with him, but around midnight, she heard a knock at her door.

"It's open, Malfoy. What do you want?"

The door slid open, and she turned her head to see him standing in the doorway, and he gestured to her cloak which he was now wearing. She hopped off her bed and moved in front of him.

"Where did you find it?" she asked.

"Blaise found it, actually. Not sure where, though. I could ask if you want."

"No, no, that's quite all right," she asserted, reaching over his neck to try to grab it. He flicked it away behind his shoulders, grabbing her upper arms and holding her in place a few centimeters in front of his chest.

"Trick or treat, Granger."

"Which option gets me my cloak back?"

"That depends."

"What the devil could that depend on?"

"Which one you choose."

"Very funny, Malfoy. Now give it back. You don't want to be wearing my cloak around, anyway." She unsuccessfully tried to wrestle herself out of his grasp.

_Shit..._

"Take your pick," he told her authoritatively.

"Fine then...treat."

"There you go." He let go of her right arm, regally slipping the cloak off his back with his left hand then draping it over her before he let go of her left arm.

"You still have your mask?" he asked in the suggestive tone she knew that he used whenever he wanted something from a girl.

"The treat's supposed to be for me, Malfoy, not you," she replied scathingly, clasping her cloak so that the red fabric covered her dress.

"I know."

"Then why does it matter whether or not I have my mask?"

Draco crossed his arms, a smirk forming more fully on his lips.

"And here I thought we were actually getting somewhere," he jibed.

"That depends on what you mean by somewhere, Malfoy."

"You know what I mean, Granger."

He gently touched her cheek, and she barely repressed a shiver, marching back into their common room and standing at the window, looking out at the stars and the school grounds. She cringed internally as she heard his footsteps behind her, actually pressing her eyes shut when she felt a gentle hand on her right forearm.

"You always go by the books, don't you?" he whispered in her right ear.

"Not always," she said defensively.

"Then prove it. I know how you look at me when I'm not looking, Granger."

"No, you do not!" she exclaimed as her heart started to pound rapidly, and she impulsively wheeled herself around to face him, so quickly that the clasp on her cloak fell open.

"How could you know if you aren't looking?" she sneered, expecting him to either snap back at her or freeze up, but again he failed to adhere to her expectations. She knew that she was trapped no matter what, because her response confirmed that he knew exactly what he was talking about, and he could read right through her; his hand gripped her arm slightly, pulling her the littlest bit closer to him. His left hand pressed against the nape of her neck, soon joined by his right hand, his lips pushed against hers, and she felt the tip of his tongue touch her own. She resisted for a moment but ultimately gave into the warmth radiating from him.

She was not surprised at how forward he was, but she would have expected Malfoy to be cold to the touch, cold and hostile, and she was shocked to find that he was quite the opposite, that once she stopped pushing away from him the intimacy actually started to feel rather comfortable. He smelled of coffee, expensive cologne and new clothes, but the taste of alcohol that she would have anticipated was remarkably absent. His chest was even warmer than hers, she noticed, as she raised her arms and cradled them around his neck, thoughtlessly pulling herself closer to him. She flinched when she felt her cloak around her feet, realising that the simple act of letting it fall, even unintentionally as she had, could draw the situation farther than she wanted to feel comfortable with, but Draco didn't seem to react, except to slide his hands back from the nape of her neck to the small of her back. Each movement was so fluid, every time their lips met, every pulse of his heart pushing up against hers, all so indescribably, irresistibly natural. Hermione could practically feel herself melt into him as the kiss slowly but surely deepened, even though a vestige of her original reticence still was with her.

2 hours later

Draco's right hand shifted slightly farther down, his fingertips resting precisely at the point on her thigh where her so-called dress ended, climbing under the lace and gently holding it. Her heart sped up as her anxiety level jumped, and Draco broke the kiss, pulling his mouth just barely away from hers, as though he only just remembered who he was dealing with and the relationship they typically had. Hermione figured that almost any other girl probably would have stripped straightaway, and that he wasn't used to things going any less smoothly. Draco Malfoy wasn't the kind of boy who had to wait, Draco Malfoy was the kind of boy that girls were more than willing to please; Draco Malfoy was the kind of boy who got anything he wanted, when he wanted it, without doing anything for it other than smirking and looking pretty. She would never have imagined that Draco Malfoy was the kind of boy who would spend two hours of his time doing nothing with a girl but kissing, let alone without pressuring her. And Hermione Granger was not the kind of girl who would put up with a guy pressuring her. Flirting, sure; but there was a point at which it was simply too far. Somehow, Draco Malfoy seemed to be the kind of boy who could tell where Hermione Granger had drawn that line.

_I suppose now I really do know why he's been invading my personal space so much...he knows just how far it's safe to...bloody hell, we've been snogging for two hours...straight...how did that even..._

Hermione flashed back to the first conversation they'd had as head boy and head girl: his lack of hesitation to act as though her room were his territory and to move close to her, his assertion that becoming a Death Eater hadn't been his choice, his comments about her clothing, his saying that maybe they would learn to get along. She stopped herself before she could over think the situation at hand, listening instead to just the beating of their hearts and their breath rising and falling, feeling the warmth and moisture from his breath as she shivered. She could barely believe that he hadn't pressed any further since they had pulled apart, that his only action seemed to be gently running his hand along the lace hem of her dress, and couldn't help realising how easy it would be for her to say yes, to set everything off. There was a part of her that desperately wanted to say no, to turn and run away and never even look back, yet she was familiar with this part of her, and when it came to anything else, she was a champion at pushing it away. She wasn't sure if she wanted to push it away now, but then again, she never really was; that was the point of the fear in the first place.

_Does he...do I really...I've thought about it before, but who hasn't? Do I want this to be - him to be...do I really want to do this here, now, with Malfoy?_ her thoughts raced. Her eyes unintentionally met his and she involuntarily quivered, almost frightened by the uncertainty, the passion, the kindness, the care, the honesty, reflected in them. He could see the fear and conflict in hers, and somewhat reluctantly loosened his hold around her waist. The skin felt cold, naked, vulnerable, without the touch of his warm skin. She felt her heart skip a few beats and her stomach roll. She had known - at least in the past couple of months, if not before - that she was attracted to him, but had assumed that whatever feelings she may harbour were both irrelevant and unrequited.

_And yet here we are..._

A moment later she dropped her left hand down to where Draco's hand was toying with the lace, gently taking his fingers off of the dress and laying his hand down flat on her thigh right below the hemline. She closed her eyes and took a deep, shaky breath, clenching the lace between her trembling fingers. As she exhaled she pulled the dress over her head, compulsively folding it before laying it to rest on the couch and then sliding Draco's signature suit jacket down his arms. She laid it - perfectly folded - next to her dress.

He smiled, wrapping his arms around her bare torso as she turned back around and faced him, his palms resting on her hips. She locked the embrace, laying her arms on top of his, pulling his shirt collar towards her and kissing him again. This time felt even better than the last, because she wasn't resisting the contact, and was actually paying full attention, even before his lips parted to meet hers. The kiss was broken for a moment when Hermione's fingers finished unbuckling the belt strung through the loops on Draco's dress pants. He stepped away only far enough to pull them down the full length of his legs.

"Why today?" Hermione asked, and he reluctantly replied.

"I pretend to be someone I'm not every single day of my life. Hallowe'en, ironically, is the day I've set aside for being myself."

"Because most people can't tell that you're living a lie?"

"The facade destroys nothing," he nodded.

"Except for you."

Draco paused. Hermione's voice was eerily soft, but the words hit him hard, especially as he could see they came from someone who knew that he was a better person than he dared to let on, who remembered that the previous year's mission had served to drive him to the edge, who could see that he still teetered on that fine, fragile line, even if none of that had materialised in her head until the moment before. She knew that it was still driving him crazy.

And...she cared. At least a little bit. But that was more than he could say for most people.

"Except for me," he whispered, his eyes drawing back to hers. She smiled gently, leaning forward and kissing him softly for a short moment.

"I suppose you want me to fold these, huh?" Draco asked jokingly at a whisper, adjusting the creases of the pant legs.

"That would be wonderful," she laughed. He finished with the pants and set them on top of his jacket as Hermione wordlessly pulled at the buttons of his shirt. He tugged it off, starting with the left sleeve and then looking to her for approval to remove the other, given in a nervous, distracted nod. Hermione bit down on her lip hard enough that it bled, forcing herself not to turn her head away as his Dark Mark became visible.

"You're going to be okay. I know what I'm doing," Draco said, in a poor - but only somewhat vain - attempt to reassure her.

"I know," she responded. "That's exactly what I'm worried about."

"Well, don't be."

Hermione grimaced. Especially when coupled with the confidence with which he said them, those were the first Malfoy-like words he had spoken since he kissed her. There was a second in which she thought that his usual demeanour would soon return and the entire night would have been wasted, and then Draco, having folded his shirt as well, pushed away a few locks of hair that had fallen over to Hermione's forehead and kissed the skin beneath them. He kept his head close to hers, his hands cupping her chin as he looked in her eyes and whispered, "Just relax. The more worked up you get, the less enjoyable it'll be. We'll go slow anyway, but don't - don't push yourself too much. It doesn't need to be perfect. You're not being graded."

"Aren't I, though?" she whispered back.

"Not the way you think you are," he replied, and with that, ended the conversation, stepping back and holding out a hand towards Hermione. It was only then that she was able to see not only the scar from the Sectumsempra curse Harry had cast on him the previous term, but countless other, smaller scars, as well as another tattoo - the topic had been brought up in multiple conversations, and she knew that his Dark Mark was not his only one - a small silver dragon at the nape of his neck. She took another deep breath and placed her hand in his, struck by the heat and the butterflies formed when their fingers instantly twined together. She could have sworn she literally felt a spark as he gripped her hand tighter and pulled her out of their common room and into his bedroom.

Hermione had never seen Draco's room before; he was always the one to invade her space, whereas she kept as far as she could from his. The room was just as large as hers, but seemed rather under-decorated for him, and markedly personal. While he had many photographs hung and placed in various spots around the room, almost all of them were of his family, rather than of him, his snooty friends, or girls, all of which she would have predicted. Her eyes landed on one photograph, a wedding photograph, the subjects of which she couldn't quite make out. Both the man and woman looked eerily familiar, but she couldn't entirely place either.

"My aunt and uncle," Draco eventually explained, walking over to the photograph and bringing it back to where Hermione was standing. "She doesn't look like herself, does she?"

"Not as I've ever seen her," Hermione replied, taken by the elegant white dress that accompanied the woman's mass of frizzy black hair.

"Don't worry. I've never seen her that happy," Draco added, referring to the joyful expression on Bellatrix' face as he laid back on the king-size bed, the lavender sheets wrinkling underneath him. His voice was still as low as it had been at the beginning of the term, but Hermione couldn't help noticing that he sounded far more...human. The venom he usually made sure to exude whenever he opened his mouth seemed to have dissipated and he seemed almost vulnerable.

_Zabini is the only person I've heard, but what if Zabini really is the only person he's had over? I'd be only the third to see this room at all, and he spends so much time locked in here, and there are photographs of his parents, and his childhood, and...he's got to be lonely...but by choice? I mean, it's Malfoy..._

"Look presentable enough? Blaise isn't much of a person to ask, context considered," Draco asked a few minutes later. Hermione realised that he was deliberately letting her take her time to look around, as though he wanted her to take in every detail, and at this point, she certainly didn't put that past him.

"Not...what I expected...but I like it. Stunning lack of house colours, but I think...I think it fits."

"Ah! but I asked if it was presentable!" Draco exclaimed teasingly, pushing himself off the bed and over to her, stopping right behind her, where he was practically breathing down her neck. Her arms hung at her sides, and he gripped her right hand with his, running his fingernails along her thigh while he touched the front of his body to the back of hers. He was barely taller than she was, allowing him to easily plant a gentle kiss on her shoulder before slowly working his way closer to her neck.

"I must have the answer," he continued between kisses, mockingly feigning desperation, although the breathlessness he exhibited was entirely genuine. As he bent his head over her shoulder to move further down her neck her mouth fell open in a gasp.

"Yes," she muttered as she stretched her arm up around Draco's head and neck, and he slowly kissed his way down to her elbow.

"To which question?" he asked, so quietly that she could barely hear him with his lips right next to her ear. Her head practically involuntarily turned back to her right, their lips meeting hotly as she did, and he released his grip just enough for her to swing the rest of her body around to face his.

"I suppose this means I need to do some work on the room, hmm?" he whispered with a smile during the second before their mouths touched again. Hermione laughed and leaned into him, her heart racing as the fronts of their bodies collided, her left arm raised so that her fingertips caught his muscular shoulder a couple centimeters from her own. Draco grabbed both of her hands, gingerly backing from her and pulling her around the corner of the bed so that they stood perpendicular to its length.

"After you," he murmured, gesturing theatrically towards the bed, only to receive a curious but overwhelmingly anxious look from Hermione.

"This is all your call, you know, your terms," he continued, his tone instantly strikingly serious.

"I - I know - you said...it just - you aren't - I'm not - I just-" Hermione stammered. "I want to trust you, I really do, I just don't know-"

"If you should..." Draco finished, gently letting go of her hands and sitting on the very edge of the bed. Hermione nodded.

"I - I can tell that you're you, physically you, but I just - it feels wrong that it doesn't feel entirely wrong to trust you, if that-"

"Makes sense."

Draco pulled his wand from the waistband of his boxers, flicking it wordlessly towards the doorway. A few seconds later a pile of clothing landed on his bed. His fingers reached for the sheer white dress, but out of the corner of his eye he could tell that Hermione was shivering, and knew that it now was because of a legitimate lack of heat. His room did always seem to be chilly compared to the others in the suite. The symbolism made him cringe whenever he thought of it. He grabbed his dress shirt, walking over to Hermione and draping it over her shoulders, unsure whether she would accept the gesture, but she indeed slid her right arm into the respective sleeve. He helped her with the left, then fastened the buttons on the shirt before returning to his bed. He flicked his wand again, and sent the rest of the clothing to a large black leather chair, remembering to refold everything, more as an act of respect than anything else.

"If you'd like to stay here, you can, of course," he began. "I understand if you don't, though, but like I said, your call."

Standing half naked in the middle of the bedroom, contemplating the previous hours and struggling to steady her breath, Hermione was unsure whether she was more frightened by the attraction screaming inside of her or by Draco's uncharacteristic behaviour. Also unsure whether she was able to speak, she darted across the hall, pulling her wand from her desk and returning to Draco's room. He seemed surprised to see her step back into the room, his eyes wide with curiosity as they peeked up at her from where they had fallen after her departure. Hermione cleared her throat.

"How did Voldemort know when Bill and Fleur's wedding was?" she inquired. Draco winced at his name.

"His horridly unfaithful spy, of course," Draco said, almost sarcastically.

"Snape?"

"No, Mulciber."

"Why does McGonagall keep giving Snape information?"

"How would I know? Your Order, not mine. She wouldn't tell me anything like that. I mean, not on her own, maybe if I asked, but I haven't. Not yet anyway."

"You're planning to?"

"It's not exactly considered polite to walk into the Deputy Headmistress' office and ask her why she's allowing her enemies to be supplied correct information."

"You aren't exactly considered polite."

"No, but I am exactly considered Head Boy. She told me I had to try, or else. And considering it's McGonagall, I figure I don't want to find out what the 'or else' is."

"Probably a fair assumption."

"Any other questions you need a Death Eater certified answer for?"

"At the moment, just one-" Hermione paused, absentmindedly fiddling with the buttons lining the front of Draco's dress shirt. "Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why me?" she asked, the anxiety nearly radiating from her voice. Draco instantaneously grew more tense as he adjusted the position in which he was sitting. His last exhale before speaking again was a distinctly fearful sigh.

"Well, Granger..." he hesitated. "I actually kind of like you, believe it or not."

"Malfoy," Hermione scolded admonishingly, reading into his return to his usual, condescending tone. He sighed even more deeply than before.

"What? What do you want me to say, Granger?" he stormed, jolting up from his bed so that he was standing on his feet. "That I fell for you? That I don't want you to leave? That I'm fucking scared of however this war's going to go and I don't want you to be on the losing side regardless? That I feel this intense need to be with you and help you and protect you? That it fucking hurts when I see you laughing at something some other bloke said? That it scares me shitless that I don't just want to sleep with you? That I honestly believe that's part of why I'm getting driven out of my mind? That I'm so far gone I don't even think I give two wits what my father thinks about it? Is that what you want me to say?"

"Is that the truth?" Hermione returned with equal verve, slicing a pause into the conversation in which Draco caught most of his breath.

"Yes," he whimpered.

"Then yes," she said. "That's exactly what I want you to say."

She held his gaze for a few moments, until her eyes drifted to the bed at her left. She bit her lip again, then she walked around to the side opposite Draco and sat down, setting her wand on the nightstand, sliding up to the headboard and lifting the silk sheets so that she could slip under them. She laid down on her side facing Draco, looking up towards him just in time to watch his pursed lips grow into a gleam. He chuckled, twiddling his thumbs nervously, then sat back down, dimming the lights before he set his wand aside and rolled over towards Hermione. He haphazardly threw the covers over himself whilst turning to face her.

"So, then, why you..." he began again softly, running his fingers through her hair. "You, because I fell for you, because I don't want you to leave, because I'm fucking scared of however this war's going to go and I don't want you to be on the losing side regardless. You, because I feel this intense need to be with you and help you and protect you, because it fucking hurts when I see you laughing at something some other bloke said, because it scares me shitless that I don't just want to sleep with you and because I honestly believe that's part of why I'm getting driven out of my mind. You, because I'm so far gone I don't even think I give two wits what my father thinks about it. That's...that's why you."

He sighed, more from his immediate relief than anxiety, but still from anxiety nonetheless, waiting for a response. He was beginning to think she wasn't going to respond at all, when he felt her soft lips press into his. His hands reached behind her neck, his thumbs resting on the edges of her cheeks as her arms wrapped around his torso and she pulled him closer.


End file.
